


Paying Respects

by VelkynKarma



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bittersweet, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grieving, Season 6 Spoilers, post season 6 reaction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 07:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14995385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VelkynKarma/pseuds/VelkynKarma
Summary: In the aftermath of the battle with Lotor, Shiro recovers, and honors a fallen hero he never had a chance to meet directly.





	Paying Respects

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this the same day that season six aired and posted it on tumblr. The response was...overwhelming, frankly, so I'm posting it as its own fic here as well. Enjoy, but fair warning: nearly everyone that read it on tumblr admitted to crying, so...

Adjusting to being alive again is…difficult.  
  
It’s not the body that’s the problem so much. For Shiro it feels identical to his original one that he’d been born with, mostly because it _was._ The body had been a perfect clone of his own, after all. There are differences with it, certainly. Scars he doesn’t remember getting, most notably a vicious hand-shaped burn on his leg. Scraps of memories that aren’t his, with so many holes in them that they feel far away and distant, like a dream or a nightmare slipping through his fingers after waking up. But ultimately it functions just like his old one used to.  
  
The problem is he hasn’t had a physical body in months, and getting used to one again is hard. In the astral plane, time had no meaning, and he’d often relied on the Black Lion to tell him when it was. Without the need to eat or sleep, without obvious physical changes like a five’o’clock shadow or his fingernails getting too long, there’s no way to really judge the passage of doboshes or vargas or even entire feebs. Without a sensation of physical touch outside of mentally conjuring it, it’s hard to remember that doors and walls are solid and won’t simply move to let him pass. Hell, even breathing becomes an exercise in frustration, when he thinks about it and suddenly it's not automatic anymore.  
  
It’s an awful lot like readjusting to gravity after months in a non-gravity environment, or at least that’s the closest comparison he can make. In the past, Shiro’s returned to Earth after trips to the space stations or colonies, and then it always took a while to get used to gravity again, because it just didn’t _exist._ Now physicality is a thing that just didn’t exist and has rudely reasserted itself.  
  
Shiro loves being alive again, but he resents it at the same time. Living is _difficult_ when you aren’t used to even mundane, stupid things.  
  
So it takes him a little bit to adjust. And to their credit, the team is really great about giving him space or letting him take it slow as he readjusts to being alive again. They’re mostly traveling back to Earth, but it’s a long haul when there’s no Castle of Lions and no wormhole jumps, so they fly from planet to planet and spend their nights camping out under the stars in the protective rings of the Lions. Other than the occasional dogfight, there’s no real major battles, and thankfully Shiro isn’t forced to engage again as leader before he’s really ready.  
  
Shiro takes short turns at the pilot’s seat of the Black Lion to help with navigation, mostly to get the feel for it again. He doesn’t do it often, though. He’s more connected to the Black Lion than he ever has been, after having been held in the Astral Plane by it for months, but it’s still hard to pilot with only one arm. And unfortunately, they haven’t had the opportunity to find a decent place to get him a new, safe prosthetic. The Castle of Lions might have had the supplies for it, but as it stands, Shiro just has to grin and bear it. So Keith helps with most of the Black Lion’s piloting, and takes over during combat where needed.  
  
If Shiro is deeply honest with himself, that’s okay by him. He trusts the Black Lion implicitly, especially after it went through so much effort to save his life—or at least his soul, or mind, or whatever it was that was left of him. But even so, he could certainly use the break. He’ll spend some travel quintents on other Lions, sometimes, or camp out on the far side of the circle, as far from Black as he can get. Just so it’s not always in his head.  
  
But after a couple of spicolian movements, Shiro starts to adjust. He voices his opinion in conversations or plans more often. He takes longer turns flying in open areas, where a lot of maneuverability isn’t needed. He finally starts to get the hang of a physical form again, and get a grip on what the rumblings in his stomach mean, or the soreness in his muscles from training, or the pull at his eyelids and his mind when he’s been awake too long. Living starts to make sense again.  
  
And once it does, he has one final mission for himself.  
  
He’s thought about this one a lot, and he has all he specifications ready by the time he starts recruiting. He starts with Hunk and Pidge, one evening while they’re camped out on a planet.  
  
“I need you to make something for me,” he says. “If you can. I’m not sure what kind of equipment we have. If it has to, it can wait until Earth, but I’d like to have it as soon as possible.”  
  
“It’s not an arm, is it?” Hunk asks, glancing uneasily at the open space where Shiro’s long sleeve is neatly pinned to his shoulder.  
  
The remains of the port have since been surgically removed, since it had both been uncomfortable, and potentially dangerous; they weren’t sure how much of the control mechanism’s influence could be left even in those pieces. But whatever Haggar had done to this body, the grafting of the Galra prosthetic had extended even farther up his arm to the shoulder, and now Shiro has nothing left of his right arm at all. He knows it makes the others a little uncomfortable, especially since they had no way to fix it for him.  
  
Shiro shakes his head. “No. I know you don’t have the supplies or equipment for that. I’ll be fine, I promise.” He fishes a scrap of paper out of his pocket. “I need this.”  
  
Pidge takes he scrap of paper and adjusts her glasses as she looks at it. “What is this? A stone pillar?”  
  
“A small one,” Shiro says, gesturing with his left arm. “Not more than this big.” He indicates a height no more than a foot all. “Stone is traditional, but in this case I think metal might be safer. More durable. With a small piece at the front,” he adds, tapping the rough, crude sketch he’d managed with his left hand.  
  
“I don't think this would be hard,” Hunk says, leaning over to look at the sketch. “We still have scrap metal, and we recovered some of the welding torches and things from our workshop when we packed up to run.”  
  
“Great. Can you add the inscription on the back, too?” Shiro asks, gesturing for them to flip the paper over. Pidge does, curious. On the other side are several characters Shiro had painstakingly written with his left hand. The kanji are pretty sloppy, and he’s sure his old teacher would have had a fit if she could see these. But considering his left hand is both not used to writing and not used to being alive in general, he thinks he did a decent job.  
  
“We can try,” Pidge says. “What is this, Japanese?”  
  
Shiro nods.  
  
“I can’t promise it’ll look _good,”_ Hunk says. “I don’t know how to write in Japanese. But we can copy this, and we do have a tool we can use to cut it into the metal.”  
  
“That’s all I need,” Shiro says. “I appreciate it. Don’t let it take priority over paladin missions, but if you have a spare minute…”  
  
“Sure,” Pidge says. “But what is this for?”  
  
“It’s personal,” Shiro admits. “I’ll explain it once I have everything together. Honestly, I’d do it all myself normally, but…” He shrugs, and glances briefly at his right shoulder.  
  
“Yeah,” Hunk says. “No problem, Shiro. We’ve got this.”  
  
Shiro can tell they’re confused, but he knows they’ll come through for him anyway.  
  
His next target is Lance. Lance has a habit of checking out every farmer’s market, shopping plaza, and town fair they happen to be near whenever they stop on planets, and he has a knack for finding interesting things in out-of-the-way places. Shiro wouldn’t know the first place to start, and these days he doesn’t like heading to crowded towns and cities much unless it’s on business. The stares he gets over his missing arm are exhausting, and he’s not really ready to deal with it all yet. Lance can definitely take care of this for him.  
  
“A flower?” Lance asks, puzzled.  
  
“Yes,” Shiro says. “Something that isn’t vibrant or flashy. Something respectful, if possible. But something that will last a while, and is smaller. Maybe this big, at most.” He gestures at something maybe six inches in length.  
  
Lance frowns. “Okay, I guess I can take a look. But why a flower?”  
  
“It’s personal,” Shiro repeats his answer from his conversation with Hunk and Pidge. “I’ve tried looking at the outskirts of our campsites, but any flowers I find aren’t right. They’re all scruffy. More like weeds.”  
  
“Okay,” Lance drawls, clearly still confused. “Well. Uh. I guess I can take a look.”  
  
Lance doesn’t bring it up again for more than a spicolian movement, but he does eventually track Shiro down after dinner one evening, pulling him aside. “You said it’s personal, so I didn’t want to show you in front of anyone else, just in case,” Lance says, reaching into his coat pocket. “But uh…is this the right idea?”  
  
The flower that he holds in his hand is unusual and alien. It has the long petals of a lily, but they curl upward a little more, creating a protective twirl around the center of the flower. When Shiro picks it up, he finds it’s not a live flower at all, but carved out of some kind of wood, and painted with darker blue and purple lacquer. It looks delicate, but it’s sturdy, and it certainly won’t decay any time soon.  
  
“I found it in a little farmer’s market stall,” Lance says. “You said you wanted it to be long lasting, and it had darker colors, so…”  
  
“It’s perfect,” Shiro says, running his thumb carefully over the edge of one of the petals.  
  
Lance flashes him a relieved grin. “Great. Uh, I won’t ask what it’s for, but…”  
  
“I’ll explain it all later,” Shiro says. “Promise.”  
  
Lance gives him a puzzled look, but accepts the answer anyway.  
  
His last stop for materials are Allura and Coran. He’s not sure if they’ll even have what he’s looking for; it might not have been an essential item to run with. But they have more of a shot than anyone else…and if not, he supposes he can always send Lance back to market for more items.  
  
“Incense,” Shiro says, drawing them aside one night. “I don’t know if you ever had it on Altea, or if you have any with you now. Or maybe a candle. I could do with that if I had to.”  
  
Allura looks perplexed. “What are these things?”  
  
“Uh…they’re things you can burn. They usually release some kind of scent,” Shiro explains. “Incense is like a small stick that gradually burns down, usually this long,” he adds with a gesture. “Candles are usually more squat.”  
  
“I haven’t either of these things, I’m afraid,” Allura admits, apologetic. “We did have some aromatherapy water bowls back on Altea, and my father gifted me one when I was younger, but I’m afraid it wasn’t one of the things I had time to take with me.”  
  
“Nor me,” Coran says. “Why? Would something like that make you feel better?”  
  
“It’s not for me, exactly,” Shiro says. Well, maybe in a way it is. It’s all sort of confusing. “Never mind. I’ll figure something out.”  
  
“Now hold on a tick,” Coran says. “Maybe it’s not for you, but it seems important to you, hmm? I’m heading into town on this planet tomorrow to go grocery shopping. I’ll see if I can’t find something that meets your needs.”  
  
“In the meantime, is there something we can help you with?” Allura asks. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”  
  
“I’m fine,” Shiro says. “As fine as anyone can be given the circumstances, anyway. You did a really good job healing me, I promise. No headaches—“ they asked about that one a lot, and fairly, considering the circumstances, “—no residual pain, even my shoulder is fine. Promise.”  
  
“Very well,” Allura says finally. “But do tell us if something changes.”  
  
“I will,” Shiro says. “I promise.”  
  
True to form, Coran does return the next day with a small package for Shiro, containing a dozen sticks of incense. It’s a little chunkier than the sort of thing on Earth, and contains alien scents that aren’t familiar, but they’re soothing all the same.  
  
“I hope that works,” Coran says. “I found a shop and a very helpful salesperson, but I wasn’t really sure what you needed it for…?”  
  
The unspoken question hovers there, but Shiro just says, “I promise I’ll tell you all when I’m done.”  
  
He doesn’t need anyone looking at him like he’s crazy until then.  
  
Pidge and Hunk complete their piece of his request two quintents later. It’s exactly as Shiro requested, a small metal spire with a piece jutting out at its base with a few small holes bored into it. The engraving on the metal is decent, considering Shiro’s sloppy sample and their unfamiliarity with Japanese kanji. It has enough heft to it that it won’t be broken or dislodged easily. It’s perfect.  
  
“Thanks,” he says, accepting the item gratefully.  
  
“No problem,” Pidge says.  
  
“Do we get to know what it’s for, yet?” Hunk asks, with his usual lack of tact.  
  
“Tomorrow,” Shiro promises. “Everything’s almost ready.”  
  
That night, he checks in with Keith, the last one on his list. He doesn’t need any items from Keith, but he does need permission, or at least some sort of agreement. Fortunately, he’s sure Keith won’t mind.  
  
“You…want to set something up in the Black Lion?” Keith repeats, with a confused blink. “Why would you even need to ask me if I’m okay with that?”  
  
“We’re both piloting it now,” Shiro says. “You more than me, currently. It’s only fair that I ask, before I install something else in there. It won’t be in the way or distracting, and it’s harmless. But even so, I wanted to check.”  
  
“Sure,” Keith says. “I don’t mind. But what is it, exactly? And why the Black Lion?”  
  
“It’s the right place,” Shiro says quietly. “And there’s nowhere else to put it. I don’t want to leave it on some random planet. And Earth is still a ways away, but it’s…well, it doesn’t feel _right._ The Lion does.”  
  
_“What_ doesn’t feel right?” Keith asks, confused. “What don’t you want to leave behind?”  
  
Not yet. Not even for Keith. He’s sure the reactions will be confused, and he doesn’t want to deal with that yet. “Tomorrow,” Shiro promises. “It will all be ready tomorrow.”  
  
“Okay,” Keith says slowly. “I trust you, Shiro.”  
  
It comes as no surprise to Shiro that the next morning he has something of a crowd waiting for him.  
  
They arrive as he starts collecting the pieces of his little project together, assembling them all on one of the small hover trays they’d used to move their salvage from the Castle of Lions. Some of them, like Krolia and Romelle, quietly keep their distance. But the paladins and Coran are right there waiting for him as he finishes loading up the tray and drags it behind him with his left hand. They follow him up the jaw hatch of the Black Lion as it crouches in front of him, and he doesn’t argue when they do. He’d promised, after all.  
  
Once he’s in the cabin, he starts assembling his project. The metal pillar is just small enough to fit in one of the extra storage compartments to one side, under the dashboard; he’d measured specifically to make his specifications. He kneels in front of the little cupboard to fit it in easily, and then deftly slots the little wooden flower into one of the bored metal holes in the extended piece in the front.  
  
He fits one stick of incense into the slot on the other side, and automatically tries to activate his right arm to light it between pinched fingers, before he remembers he doesn’t have that anymore. He sighs in mild exasperation, but then reaches up to the tray hovering alongside to snatch the lighter, flicking it on clumsily with his left hand. Once lit, the aroma is calming, and the little trail of smoke makes an odd, lazy spiral as it rises upward.  
  
_“Oh,”_ Pidge says suddenly. “This…this is a _gravestone.”_  
  
Shiro nods wordlessly.  
  
“A…grave?” Hunk says slowly. “For who?”  
  
“For the clone,” Shiro says, after a moment. He keeps his eyes focused on the little memorial, not daring to look at the others, and watches the lazy spiral of smoke flicker up from the base of the grave.  
  
“For the…” Keith sounds baffled. _“Why?”_  
  
“I would have thought you’d be angry,” Lance adds.  
  
“If anyone would have the right to be furious about the situation, it would be you, Shiro,” Allura agrees. He can all but hear the frown in her voice. “Why would you want to honor its death?”  
  
“Because nobody else will, and he deserves this much, at least,” Shiro says quietly.  
  
There’s silence for a very long moment. Shiro can feel them all staring at him, trying to understand, but it has to be hard. It has to be _so_ hard, after everything they went through with that clone.  
  
And Shiro understands, honestly. He only has little flashes of memory here and there, nothing cohesive and not enough to string together an understanding of events. But they’d told him what happened, after. How the person in the body he’s now wearing had planted a virus in the Castle of Lions that had nearly killed them all. How he’d helped Lotor to escape. How he’d nearly killed Keith in a violent battle. He would understand, if they harbored resentment for that person. He understands why they’re confused now.  
  
Like Allura said, after all: if anyone had the right to be furious, Shiro would certainly be the one. That other person had paraded around with his memories and a copy of his body and had nearly lead everyone to their deaths on multiple occasions. He’d hurt team members. And he’d prevented anyone from realizing Shiro was still missing. He _should_ , by all rights, be absolutely livid.  
  
He doesn’t even feel a shred of anger, and it’s visible on his face, and in his calm demeanor. And they must pick up on that, because eventually Coran says, “This is obviously very important to you, Shiro. Could you maybe explain why?”  
  
Shiro’s thought about how to explain this for a while, because he’s known the question would come up. He finally says, “When I was in the Astral Plane, when the Black Lion rescued me, I had a connection to everything the Black Lion could see or feel or sense. Kind of like how they choose and connect to their pilots. It was weaker for me, but I could still feel Keith piloting the Black Lion for a time. And I could feel when somebody else tried to pilot it. When _he_ did.” He nods at the little gravestone.  
  
“I won’t lie. I _was_ furious at first. I could see he looked and acted just like me, but I was the only one that knew he _wasn’t._ I was so sure he was going to hurt you all. That he was some kind of spy, just waiting to take advantage of a moment of weakness. And I hated him for that. I hated how nobody was looking for me anymore because they thought I was back. I hated him for _everything._ So the Black Lion and I…we made sure he couldn’t be a pilot. I didn’t want him to hurt anyone.”  
  
“That’s why he couldn’t fly the Black Lion at first,” Lance says, wide-eyed.  
  
Shiro nods. “And he didn’t come back for a long time, after that. But he did return to the pilot’s seat eventually. On that day, the Black Lion had been receiving communications from you all, and it helped me listen. I still don’t understand the context of the fight, but you were getting overwhelmed. Keith wasn’t there to pilot and everyone was in danger. I was terrified, listening to that. I wanted to help. I was so scared everyone was going to die. But there was nothing I could do except listen to everyone coming closer and closer to death over the radio.”  
  
He gestures quietly to the memorial. “And then he showed up. And…his thoughts? They were identical to mine. He was terrified, too. He was so afraid everyone would be hurt and he wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop it. He _begged_ the Lion to accept him once more, because people’s lives were at stake, and he was desperate to protect them. I could _feel_ it. He put every last piece of his soul into that request. We matched on an exact level. He wasn’t faking. That _was_ him.”  
  
He glances over at the others, for a moment. They’re all watching him with rapt attention, frowning or fidgeting but at least _trying_ to listen, trying to understand.  
  
He looks back to the memorial. “That’s when I understood,” Shiro says. “He wasn’t me. He was still a Galra trap. He could be dangerous to you all. But he didn’t _know_ it. In his heart, in his mind, he just wanted to keep everyone safe.” He sighs. “So we let him fly again. Because I couldn’t do anything to protect you in that moment, and he wanted to more than anything.”  
  
“Oh,” Allura whispers, very softly.  
  
“He was still a threat,” Shiro says. “I did what I could to try and warn you all, still. I knew it was only a matter of time before something happened. But he wasn’t doing it on purpose. He was just as much of a victim as the rest of us.”  
  
A victim with a terrifying end. Shiro’s tried to imagine what it must have been like, picking out the scraps of faded memories he can find in his head to help with that. He tries to imagine how it must have felt, to suddenly hurt so badly, to have control wrested away like that. To be forced to fight his best friend, and harm the family he’s found out in the depths of space. To wake, just in time to die.  
  
To have never really lived a life of his own to begin with. To have his entire life be a lie, until it ended far too soon.  
  
It’s frightening. Shiro’s had nightmares about it. He’s not even sure if they’re his, or remnants of the clone’s, from the bits and pieces in that brain that aren’t his.  
  
And after all that, after everything he’d suffered through, that person was destined to be forgotten. Just another victim, manipulated from birth until death, probably still without ever really understanding what had happened to him. Likely to be hated or at least resented by everyone that had ever known him.  
  
Shiro can’t imagine that existence completely. But he doesn’t think it’s right, for that other version of him to find his end in such an awful way, hurting and forgotten. Not when he’d only ever wanted to save.  
  
So maybe the rest of the world will forget him, or resent him, or think of him as evil and little else. Shiro’s the only one who ever touched his mind, outside of the Lions. Shiro’s the only one who ever really understood him in full. So Shiro will remember him, even if no one else will.  
  
“I didn’t…think of it that way,” Hunk says slowly.  
  
“But…that…that kind of makes sense,” Lance says. “I think. He…he came to me once, when the Castle of Lions’ life support was dying? And he was…well, he seemed scared. He said he didn’t feel like himself. I didn’t really understand what that meant, but…” He swallows. “It must have been really confusing.”  
  
“He…he was scared, at the very end,” Keith adds, very softly. “And confused. I don’t…think he entirely understood what was happening. But maybe…maybe he didn’t mean for any of that to happen.”  
  
“He didn’t,” Shiro says. “It happened, but that was the fault of that witch, and the Galra. So he deserves a little peace, and a little respect.”  
  
“The Black Lion seems a fitting place for this memorial marker,” Allura says.  
  
Shiro smiles weakly. “I didn’t want to leave it on some random planet we passed by, and waiting for Earth…he’d never been there. It didn’t seem right. The Castle of Lions was his home, but the Black Lion is the next closest thing.”  
  
“Is this an Earth custom?” Coran asks, watching the incense smoke trails.  
  
“Of a sort,” Shiro says. “From the country I’m from on Earth. He would have gotten the significance of it. It’s the best I could do out here—normally there’s a lot more ceremony and fresh flowers or foods involved. But I appreciate everyone’s help putting it together.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” Pidge says. “But if this is a gravestone, then…what does the inscription say?”  
  
Shiro glances over the kanji painstakingly inscribed in the metal surface. Traditionally, a name might be engraved, but his clone had never had one of his own. He didn’t even have dates, as was the custom for western gravestones; he had no idea when the clone had been born, only when he’d died.  
  
But leaving it blank would have felt meaningless, so instead he’d chosen a message. _“In heart and soul, a protector until the end,”_ he translates.  
  
If his clone had nothing else, he _did_ have that strong desire to keep the team safe, and to do what was right. That’s what he’ll be remembered for, in the end.  
  
“Oh,” Pidge says.  
  
He can tell they still don’t entirely understand—the wounds are probably still too raw for that—but that’s alright. They’re at least trying. Shiro appreciates that.  
  
“Did you want a moment?” Keith asks, after a few ticks of awkward silence.  
  
“That would be nice,” Shiro admits.  
  
The others exchange glances, but finally nod, and file out of the cabin. “We’ll be outside if you need us,” Lance says, as he scoots out the door.  
  
Shiro nods absently, but waits until they’re all gone—and the Black Lion hums a quiet _all clear_ signal in his head—that he finally takes action.  
  
“I’m sorry I can’t properly offer a prayer or pay respects,” he tells the monument, raising his one hand in front of him. “Hard to do like this. It’s not exactly traditional, but nothing about this is, really.”  
  
No body to cremate, after all. He was currently in it. No ceremony, no real funeral, no fresh flowers or decent offerings. The grave marker is too small, and hidden away in a cabinet, not properly displayed in a graveyard with a decent caretaker. As paying respects for the dead goes, it’s a pretty terrible attempt, but Shiro does what he can.  
  
“I’m sorry about everything that happened to you,” he says quietly. “I know what it’s like to be a victim of Haggar. I know it must have been scary as hell. It must have been so confusing. And you didn’t deserve any of that.  
  
“I’m not really sure what’s on the other side. The Black Lion kept me from going there. But even if you mostly had my personality and my thoughts…you were still a person. And I hope that you found peace somewhere, after all this. You deserve it.”  
  
_He will find peace,_ the Black Lion reassures him quietly. _Not even I nor my brethren know what is Beyond, but I felt the last remnants of his mind leave. I did not stop it, as I did you. He must know rest._  
  
If anybody deserved rest, it was this nameless person, for sure.  
  
“Thank you for your sacrifice,” Shiro says finally. “It probably wasn’t your intention, but thank you for the new body. And even if we never really met, know that I won’t forget you anyway.  
  
“You did a good job protecting them as best as you could,” he finishes. “So thank you for that, too, for looking after them when I couldn’t. Rest well.”  
  
And with a note of finality, he reaches forward and extinguishes the incense, cleaning up the little grave.  
  
It will keep. It’s not in the way, and it can be closed up in the little storage cupboard for combat so it doesn’t get dislodged. He can periodically clean it up, if needed, or bring better offerings if they find new ones.  
  
But even so, it feels…right. To let his clone finally, in this one small way, be free to fly among the stars and be part of something greater, protecting and serving and intrinsically meshed with the very symbol of a paladin. To give him a chance to rest, in the one place he called home, with the one thing that truly established what he’d been.  
  
At last, he can finally have freedom. He’d never had control, and he’d always been a pawn. It had cost him his life throw off the shackles, and that wasn’t fair to anyone.  
  
But he was free. He was home. And Shiro, at least, will respect him and remember him for what he was and what he’d wanted to be. Because he’d known. And because nobody else will.

**Author's Note:**

> Rest in peace Kuron :(


End file.
